Give Us A Chune

A virtual jam session

Friday, September 08, 2006

I used to love the fall.

I was the aberrant kid who looked forward to going back to school. As much as I groused and dragged my heels, I secretly liked school shopping. The air crisp and tart as the apples on our trees, the woods flaming and mysterious, beckoning as it transformed tangled underbrush into golden carpet and twitched back its skirts to reveal hidden paths and crimson-roofed tunnels.

Fall was a promise kept. Fall was New Year's Day for me as it was for the Celts. Fall was change, new horizons, possibility.

I still love the Fall but like any love affair, the first blush of attraction has mellowed into something both more intimate and more distant.

I can see myself as I was in the colors, can smell my yellow rubber rain coat in the crisp, brown leaves, and I'm reminded more of paths crossed and left behind than paths opening before me. Fall is the fairy story of the child snatched from mortal lands to live in magic and wonder but at the price of having to age and wither while those around remain ageless and unchanging.

Well, this too shall pass, but it's been a tough patch of road lately. The music season is largely past, the festivals mostly boarded up for the year, and the instruments lie in their cases too long. Perhaps the offseason will prove to be a long, rewarding woodshedding time (odd expression, that, with connotations of punishment as well as bringing forth something new) but I'm worried that it'll be too much like last year--long stretches of inactivity wondering what the hell to do with myself.

This has become a time when I feel my remoteness more keenly as friends and family gear up for their Fall activities. It's incumbent on me to strike out on a new path but too often I either can't find one or I'm bewildered by the array of choices.

On a positive note, I have finally restrung my fiddle. I've long wanted to spend some time learning that instrument and this may be the season. I've also had some fruitful sessions of writing music and lyrics. I think I'll see how far into the woods those paths go.

1 Comments:

At 7:14 PM, Blogger Deb said...

Fred, that's some good writing there! I wouldn't worry about stuff to do; this blogging has proven to be the biggest time-suck I have ever known! ;)

My instruments too are in their cases way too much. I keep using the excuse "when we're in the new house..." But I did stop by the Pickin' Parlor the other day and got new strings for all, plus a copy of O'Neill's Music of Ireland (the yellow one; I was going to get the beige one but Bruce showed me how many more tunes were in the yellow one, not that I'll get to that many in my lifetime!)

 

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